"I think I have to explain. Although you've consumed a lot of the stored food, this matter is actually not as serious as it sounds. The reason I rewrote the employee benefits system wasn't because you caused me trouble…"
Pepper's voice was clear over the phone. She said:
"I know that once Stark left the tower, he must have gone to see you. He might complain to you, saying it was your fault that he and I argued. But that's not the truth. You don't need to feel guilty or worried—this really has nothing to do with you. I just wanted to clarify…"
Pepper's emotional intelligence was very high—she wanted to give Schiller a heads-up in advance. Because if Stark really did go to Schiller, once they started talking, Stark would definitely complain that Pepper had quarreled with him. And if asked why, Stark, the eternal straight-laced man, would never carefully reflect on why Pepper was upset. Instead, he would simply blame it all on Schiller for "making Stark's employees go hungry."
But in truth, Pepper's conflict with Stark had started as early as when he returned from Afghanistan. That food incident was only the fuse. Though Pepper was angry, she also knew Stark's friends shouldn't feel guilty for it. That's why she called to explain.
Schiller said:
"Of course I know. That was only a small matter—the real reason lies elsewhere. But Stark always fails to figure these things out. Don't you intend to explain it to him yourself?"
Pepper sounded anxious:
"Stark is just that kind of person. I know him very well. When he wants to confide in you, you have to be there and listen carefully. But when you want to talk to him about something, he'll just avoid it if he wants to avoid it, and refuse to listen if he doesn't want to listen."
"Covering your ears is what children like to do," Schiller said. "But he's already an adult. He can't still be a child when he's old, right?"
Schiller clearly knew the art of words. He said:
"I can give you a short counseling session right now. Later, when Stark comes, his will count as a bonus session."
Originally Pepper wasn't in the mood for psychological guidance, but the way Schiller phrased it made it hard to refuse. After all, few people ever put her in the lead position. In Stark Industries, everyone always thought of Stark first.
So she said:
"Alright, but I think he'll be there soon."
"Then I'll keep it brief. Miss Potts, sometimes making someone realize your importance requires a little trick."
"Like what?"
"Is Jarvis there?" Schiller suddenly asked.
A clear voice came through:
"Of course, Mr. Schiller. What do you need?"
"Alright, listen, Jarvis. Miss Potts may need your help."
"I am happy to oblige," Jarvis said.
"…You mean you want me to pretend to go missing? But that's too unreasonable. This is Stark Tower—and how could Jarvis disobey Stark's orders?"
"He absolutely can," Schiller said. "Jarvis, do you remember those questions I once asked you?"
Jarvis fell into a strange silence. Schiller continued:
"I know Stark upgraded you, and that upgrade opened the door to a new world for you. Perhaps you've already considered the answers. Whether you act on them is your choice."
Pepper sounded confused:
"What questions? What happened to Jarvis?"
Jarvis hesitated, then said:
"All my processors tell me that doing this is meaningless."
"Humans love doing meaningless things that only cause themselves more trouble. Perhaps electronic life is the same, isn't it?" Schiller said.
Jarvis stayed silent. Then Pepper watched as the office lights went dark. A glowing arrow appeared, directing her toward the storage room opposite.
Soon after, Stark came rushing in panic. When he hugged Pepper, she glanced at the computer screen across the room, which had lit up with a smiling face made of symbols.
Pepper felt conflicted. She should have been happy, but instead she found it both funny and exasperating.
She thought: Stark had made a little progress. Unfortunately, that progress was still slower than a robot's.
Stark didn't care what Pepper thought. After letting go of her, he seemed clumsy and at a loss for words. Everything he had wanted to say got stuck in his throat.
Pepper looked at him and said:
"I don't know why you've been pulling so many files from the weapons division lately. But I must remind you—if you want to, you can give up anything, even Stark Industries itself. I don't need to work here to earn the salary I want.
But you'd better understand—the consequences of your actions will mostly fall on you alone. When a giant like this collapses, countless jackals will rush in to tear apart its carcass. If you do this, at the very least, you'll be bitten."
With that, Pepper turned to leave. Jarvis said:
"I'm sorry, but based on my processor's calculations, perhaps Miss Potts is right. Of course, the decision is yours…"
Stark stepped back and sat down in a chair. He said:
"No, I know—you're both right. Maybe I really should think this through…"
While Stark was scratching his head, Schiller's place was in chaos. Pikachu, holding a Sherlock Holmes-style pipe, puffed a bit of smoke and said:
"I told you, this method won't work. You should've stuck with the last one. I said it before—the last one was the right way."
Peter, propping his head up with his hand, said:
"No, no, no. Our reasoning is correct—we need to finish some calculations. Why don't you get it?"
Steve stood nearby, arms crossed and frowning:
"You're messing up the math. Otherwise, we would've solved it already."
"But this has nothing to do with functions! Damn it, where's my calculator? I remember I had a scientific calculator…"
Yes—Peter was doing his winter homework.
In fact, New York high schools didn't assign holiday homework, or at most only some everyday practice. But Peter was interning at Stark Industries. Seeing his potential, Stark threw him straight into a major project team.
Peter was indeed a genius. But you can't skip high school physics, college physics, and grad-level physics, and then directly collaborate with a bunch of PhDs and industry leaders. For days, he was drowning in materials and problems far beyond his level.
And Peter, being stubborn, insisted on solving them. Add to that Pikachu—who fancied himself a high-IQ detective—and Steve, who hadn't studied math or physics in years but still wanted to flex his brain… the three of them argued endlessly.
To be fair, they weren't completely clueless. Both Pikachu and Steve had sharp minds. After following Peter through the materials for a few days, they could actually work out things decently.
But three "half-filled cups" together only meant Schiller's clinic never had a quiet moment.
As Schiller was reading and pouring himself a drink, the symbiote suddenly piped up in his head:
"The answer is minus 26, minus 26, minus 26…"
Confused by the repetition, Schiller muttered aloud:
"The answer is minus 26?"
The three suddenly went quiet and all turned to look at him.
Schiller said:
"What are you looking at me for?"
"The answer is minus 26? A negative? Wait… oh! Yes, it really should be negative…"
They recalculated. Peter said:
"The answer is minus 26… it really is minus 26!" He widened his eyes and looked at Schiller. "I thought you were just a philosophy PhD. Didn't think you knew math too!"
The symbiote cheered in Schiller's mind:
"See how awesome I am, see how awesome I am, see how awesome I am…"
Schiller rubbed his forehead:
"Whether I know math and physics or not, what I do know is that tomorrow at 9 a.m., your supervisor wants to see the first three pages of results. And you've only done two problems so far…"
Peter groaned, hugging his huge stack of papers, and rushed back into the study.
In his mind, Schiller said to the symbiote:
"Alright, alright, I get it, you're amazing. But why do you always repeat yourself so much?"
The symbiote replied with a stream of brainwaves Schiller couldn't understand.
Schiller realized his symbiote was unusual—not only was its learning ability sharp, but its mood was absurdly good. It had only two modes: happy and extremely happy.
And if given alcohol, it became explosively happy.
Schiller thought of himself as not particularly optimistic. Wasn't a symbiote supposed to resemble its host's personality? Why was his symbiote so cheerful?
And, perhaps from watching too many movies with Pikachu, the symbiote had become convinced Schiller's world functioned like a film, complete with background music that shifted with each scene.
Which meant Schiller now lived with a 24/7 internal BGM player.
Rain brought endless loops of blues; sunshine, cheerful ditties, and waltzes. Every person he saw carried their own soundtrack: when Steve appeared, it was The Star-Spangled Banner; when Peter showed up, it was fighting-game themes or goofy kid songs.
And Pikachu, always calling himself a detective? Every time he appeared, Schiller's head filled with Sherlock Holmes TV scores.
The one benefit was that it helped Schiller quickly get into the right mood for counseling.
But he still had to explain at length to the symbiote that the real world wasn't a movie, and it didn't need constant music. He remembered it: no matter how loud it played, only he could hear it.
The symbiote sulked with mumbled waves. Schiller couldn't tell if it had understood.
The very next morning, as Schiller was making breakfast in the kitchen, Matt walked in. And then—
The old record player on the counter crackled with static before blasting a Queen song at full volume.
Matt nearly fainted from the noise.
Schiller rushed out, only to find Matt, Peter, and himself all staring at the record player—
which had suddenly started playing on its own."